


Marathon Murderfest Meet Cute

by BeStillMySlashyHeart



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M, POV Alternating, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Temporary Character Death, flirting while murdering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25499434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeStillMySlashyHeart/pseuds/BeStillMySlashyHeart
Summary: Yusuf and Nicolo met by killing each other. Many times, in fact. And somewhere along the way they managed to fall in love with each other.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 368





	Marathon Murderfest Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from [sockich's tag on tumblr](https://sockich.tumblr.com/tagged/crusades-marathon-murderfest-meet-cute)

The first time Nicolo died it was in war. The battle raged, the armies clashed, and Nicolo found himself crossing blades with an enemy. They parried, he struck the other man in the shoulder, the other man buried his sword in Nicolo’s chest. 

He knew it was a mortal blow before the steel even broke his skin. He watched the arc of the sword and knew he couldn’t block it, knew it would strike true and claim his life. At that moment, he decided he would not be the only one to die. His sword felt heavy, weighted by the life that was leaving him, but Nicolo raised it in the air and drove it straight through the man’s neck. 

Hatred glared at him from warm brown eyes as the two men died together, their swords in their hands and their bodies entwined.

\---

He woke up to the distant sounds of fighting and the sight and smell of an army of corpses. The fighting was far enough off by now that there was no movement as far as he could see. Nicolo sat up and pressed a hand to his chest. His clothes were sticky with drying blood but he felt no pain.

A loud groan came from his right followed by a rustle of cloth and steel as one of the bodies next to him rolled over to stare at the sky. 

The man mumbled something in Arabic, somehow managing to sound both defeated and bewildered in only one syllable. Nicolo did not understand the word but he could recognize the sentiment. He must have made some sound because the man turned to look at him and Nicolo almost cursed his own god. 

It was the man who had killed him. The man  _ he  _ had killed. He’d driven his sword through his throat, there was no way he could still be alive.

The man stumbled to his feet in a hurry, Nicolo matching his moves, wary of another attack. They’d lost their swords, possibly buried another body, but he couldn’t count on that stopping either of them. 

The man said something else but Nicolo still couldn’t understand it. He shook his head in lieu of saying anything. In response, the man  _ rolled his eyes _ . Nicolo stopped moving and stared at him in shock. He spit out a few words in something that sounded similar to Nicolo’s own language but wasn’t. Venetian, he might guess, though he didn’t have much experience with the city. Again, he shook his head. And again, the man rolled his eyes.

He patted his injury free neck and pointed to Nicolo’s chest. Nicolo looked down at the bloody mess of clothes and back up and shook his head again. This time the man didn’t roll his eyes. They locked eyes and Nicolo lost time. The man in front of him possessed the most beautiful eyes Nicolo had ever seen. 

The sword in his gut distracted him from the sight. But only slightly. 

Nicolo looked down at the sword. His eyes followed the length of it until he saw the gloved hand that held it and then he followed the man’s arms all the way up until he was staring into his eyes again. The man looked almost apologetic but he shrugged and twisted the sword. Nicolo rolled his eyes and fell to the ground, his life leaving him again, wondering if God had brought him back just to see that man again. To see his eyes.

It would have been worth it, he thought, to die twice.

\---

When he woke up again, the man was still there. He had his back to Nicolo and was watching something across the distance. From the sound of it, he had an eye on the battle that still raged.

Nicolo held in his groan and fumbled around for a weapon. His hand hit wood and he gripped it tight, uncaring of what it was. Stumbling to his knees he swung out and let the blade of the axe cut the backs of the man’s knees. He dropped to the ground with a yell, half twisting to see who had attacked him. His hands were empty so Nicolo took his time getting to his feet. It wasn’t like the man was going anywhere, after all, not with that injury. 

The man stared up at him in disbelief, his eyes wide in wonder and fear, and he did nothing to stop Nicolo from burying the axe in his chest. When the blow was struck, Nicolo met his eyes and raised an eyebrow, trying to wordlessly convey,  _ payback’s a bitch _ .

From the way the man’s lips turned upwards and he half nodded his head in agreement, Nicolo thought the message went through just fine.

He waited after the man died. While he did, he foraged among the bodies around him for weapons and anything else that might be useful. Men would come by later to do the same but he was here already and he apparently had some time on his hands so he might as well put them to use. 

By the time the man gasped in a breath of air, Nicolo had a small supply stocked up and a piece of blue cloth torn from a dead man’s tunic. 

The surprisingly alive man scrambled to his feet and stood a safe distance away from Nicolo. His stance was relaxed, his hands didn’t reach for any weapons, and he gazed evenly at Nicolo, waiting for him to make the first move. Nicolo dropped the weapons at his feet and took a step towards the other man, the bit of cloth held outstretched. The man stared at it then at Nicolo and raised an eyebrow.

Nicolo tore it in half and threw one piece at the man before tying the other around his arm. Against the muddied brown of his own clothing and the gray steel of his armor, the blue stood out. 

The man was clearly confused but he followed Nicolo’s lead and tied his piece around his own arm. His clothing was lighter in color than Nicolo’s own so it stood out even more. Once it was tied tightly, the man looked at Nicolo askance.

Realizing that neither spoke the other’s language, Nicolo tried his best to indicate his plan. He was not going anywhere, and he doubted the other man was about to walk away from this war, so he wanted a way to find him on the battlefield, should they meet again. Nicolo wasn’t sure why they couldn’t seem to kill each other, but he was more than willing to keep trying until one of them managed it.

The man nodded after a good deal of gesturing on Nicolo’s part and they went their separate ways.

Nicolo only looked over his shoulder three times before the man was out of sight. Twice, the other man was already looking at him.

\---

It was nearly three weeks before they engaged in battle again and Yusuf was restless. He had died, twice, and was still alive. It hadn’t been a dream, he hadn’t imagined it, he had felt the pain of dying and then he’d started breathing again. 

And so had the man who had killed him.

The man whose face haunted Yusuf’s dreams. Or perhaps haunted wasn’t the right word…

He’d walked back into camp with no one the wiser as to what had happened. No one had seen him take the sword through his throat and so no one was surprised to see him walking around. Yusuf considered mentioning it to someone but quickly thought better of it. He didn’t know what it meant and he couldn’t predict how others might react. 

For nearly three weeks he stewed over it, and over the other man. Yusuf knew a bit of an Italian language through his trading but apparently he knew more than the Italian did for he had looked at Yusuf with the same blank expression as when Yusuf had spoken in his own language. But not being able to speak to one another had not stopped them from communicating. Or from the other man giving Yusuf a bit of cloth to identify himself with. 

The horn blew to signal an impending attack and Yusuf hurriedly dressed and made sure his weapons were accounted for. At the last minute he tied the blue cloth around his upper arm. He felt a bit like a fool but the man had given it to him for a reason so Yusuf would wear it. Maybe if they found each other again, they could also find some answers.

A while later, Yusuf found himself standing on the front lines, staring across an empty field at the invading army. It was massive and sprawling, as far as the eye could see. 

Standing there in the front was a man in the same drab clothing as every other man but with a bit of blue cloth tied around his arm. He was too far away to truly see, but Yusuf knew it was him. When the armies charged, Yusuf kept his eyes locked on the man, willfully ignorant to everything else around him. A few men got in his way but Yusuf cut them down without pause. 

He felt blades kiss his skin, felt his body break and his skin rupture and then felt the pain disappear. None of it stopped him until he found the other man. When Yusuf saw him, he was engaged in a fight with one of Yusuf’s fellow soldiers, his blood already staining the blue cloth. Somehow that bothered him more than the fact that he killed the man right in front of Yusuf. Freed from his opponent, the man turned on him. This close, Yusuf could see the grin fighting at his lips, could see the spark of curiosity and something else in the man’s green eyes. 

Whatever it was, it was intoxicating and Yusuf wanted to see more of it. Fighting a smile of his own, Yusuf launched an attack. The man deftly sidestepped it and countered.

For a moment, Yusuf felt almost like they were dancing. They could read each other’s movements perfectly, able to counter each strike and move into the next one without hesitation. The battle raged around them but Yusuf forgot about it. His whole world narrowed down to the man opposite him and nothing else.

They were out of breath, panting heavily, but both had lost the fight with their lips. Twin grins reflected each other as they clashed again and again. 

An explosion to the side distracted them both just long enough that they missed. Yusuf had thrust forward, fully expecting the other man to block his sword, but the explosion caused the man to shift the direction of his blade. Instead of blocking Yusuf’s swing from striking his chest, he aimed straight for Yusuf.

The steel of the other man’s armor was hot enough that Yusuf felt it through his clothes where they were pressed together. The man’s eyes were right in front of him, hardly any space between their bodies, and this close Yusuf could see that the man’s eyes were not green as he had originally thought though he was loath to use a different color to describe them. They were beautiful and, as with all true beauty, they defied description.

The sword in his chest was making it hard to breathe and his vision was starting to darken but Yusuf only had a second to notice any of that before his world was narrowed down to warm lips pressed against his. Yusuf had no idea if he had moved first or if the other man had but he didn’t care. The man’s lips had featured heavily in his dreams of late and now he knew exactly how they felt. 

The man coughed then and Yusuf pulled back as warm blood spilt across his mouth. They each took a staggering step back, their swords slipping from the other’s chests. Yusuf held the man’s eyes as they fell to their knees and then to the ground. Not even as his vision darkened completely did he look away.

When they woke up, the battle was still going. Yusuf had to roll to the side to avoid a horse stepping on him and found himself pressed against the other man. 

They stared at each other with wide eyes, both looking to the other’s lips. 

“Nicolo,” the man said. Yusuf raised an eyebrow in question. The man rolled his eyes and tapped his chest. “Nicolo.”

Ah. “Yusuf,” Yusuf introduced himself. There was a moment when Yusuf thought they might kiss again but a man cried out and reminded them that they were in the middle of a battle. The moment broken, they leapt to their feet and dove back into the battle, careful not to fight each other this time.

\---

The battle was coming to an end, the last stragglers half heartedly fighting as they retreated to their own sides of the battlefield. Nicolo was tired. It had been a long battle and he had died twice since Yusuf killed him. 

Yusuf. 

He tried hard not to think of the other man but now that he had a name he knew it would be just that much harder to force thoughts of him out of his mind. 

A shout went up from a man he recognized and Nicolo turned towards him only to find one of the infidels in his way. The man’s face was covered in dirt and blood and his clothes were ruined. He looked like death coming towards him. Nicolo’s arms were too weary to raise his blade again so he let the man come at him, embraced the oncoming moment of death, only to find familiar lips pressed to his. Nicolo kissed back for a heartbeat before he jerked away. “ _ Yusuf _ .”

Yusuf grinned and slit his throat.

\---

It was another week before they met again. This time, Nicolo cut a line down Yusuf’s spine before he ever saw him. Yusuf fell to his knees and looked up in surprise. He hadn’t expected a strike from behind, had in fact been looking forward to seeing those eyes again.

Nicolo obliged him by walking to his front and staring down at him. His lips twisted in a smirk and he blew Yusuf a kiss before walking away and leaving him to die slowly.

(He tried to return the favor later but one of his comrades grabbed his arm and tugged him back towards their own camp. Nicolo’s grin as Yusuf was pulled away blessed his dreams for the next few nights.)

\---

Nicolo was tired. He was sleeping poorly and dying often and he was exhausted constantly. Some genius had decided he would make an excellent candidate for sentry duty on the edge of the camp closest to where the infidels were camped. What’s more, they paired him with quite possibly the most infuriating man in the army. 

He didn’t shut up. Not once. Nicolo was honestly not sure when in the last three hours he had taken a breath because he never stopped talking.

When the man’s voice cut out, Nicolo’s first reaction was to close his eyes and say thank you to God. That done, he turned to investigate just why the man had finally shut up only to find him on the ground choking around an arrow sticking out of his throat.

Nicolo grabbed his crossbow and aimed it into the night but he could see no one. The arrow looked to be one shot from a longbow so he knew the attacker had a greater range than he did but that didn’t mean he was too far for Nicolo to hit. For a moment all was quiet and the darkness was still. Then, a figure emerged from the shadows and  _ waved _ at Nicolo. Nicolo’s finger was on the trigger but he hesitated as the man did a slight bow, like he was receiving congratulations.

  
It was Yusuf. Nicolo couldn’t make out his features so he had no way of being sure but he knew it was Yusuf. 

“ La shukran ala wajib!” He called out, just loud enough for Nicolo to hear. It was definitely Yusuf. Nicolo had learned just enough Arabic to understand that he was saying ‘you’re welcome’. With another wave, Yusuf turned and disappeared into the night leaving Nicolo unharmed standing next to a dead Italian.

\---

Yusuf had not had any experience with the strange bow the invaders used until he did. He quickly decided that he didn’t like them. 

He’d died twice from an arrow hitting him somewhere vital and he’d been injured on four other occasions so he felt secure in saying that arrows hurt, but were ultimately not the worst weapon in the world to be on the receiving end of.

Crossbows, however, were a different story entirely. Yusuf had just met Nicolo’s eyes when the man winked, lifted his weapon and fired it straight into Yusuf’s chest. They were close enough that had Nicolo waited just a moment, they could have clashed swords again, and the force of the arrow’s impact took him off his feet. Still, the wound took a few moments to kill him. Long enough for Nicolo to walk over and loom over him. He saw him wink again before his vision went dark. 

When he woke up the first thing he did was steal a loaded crossbow off a dead crusader and hunt Nicolo down. It was easy enough, considering the battle was dying down and Nicolo still wore that blue cloth on his arm. When he was close, cutting down three men and taking a few wounds on the way, Yusuf whistled loudly. As soon as Nicolo started to turn, Yusuf fired.

His shot went wide and killed the man standing next to Nicolo. It was one of Yusuf’s own people.

Nicolo looked at the dead man then back to Yusuf. He appeared to be fighting a grin, his lips twitching in obvious amusement. Yusuf rolled his eyes when he lost the fight and a small laugh bubbled out of him. “Mi hai mancato!” 

Nicolo stumbled over to him, his hand clenching around the grip of his sword. There were few enough men left fighting that they would probably draw some attention soon but neither one of them raised their weapons. By now they’d been killing each other for months. They still hadn’t spoken, both refusing to learn the other’s language, but they could read each other well enough that words weren’t really needed. Right now, for instance, Nicolo was amused. He’d gotten the drop on Yusuf earlier and now Yusuf had failed to even the playing field. And as a bonus, he’d demonstrated terrible skill when attempting to use Nicolo’s own weapon. 

His eyes positively danced with his laughter and Yusuf had to kiss him so he did. They were disgusting, as they always were when their paths crossed, but Yusuf kissed him and Nicolo kissed back and both ignored the men around them. It was wonderful.

Yusuf still killed him before they parted. It was only fair, after the crossbow.

\---

Nicolo was a foot soldier. He had never had designs on a military career or on moving up the ranks, perfectly content to take orders in the fight against God’s enemies.

Except when the orders included attacking a defenseless village full of women and children in an effort to lure the soldiers out of the city. It was a sound military strategy, Nicolo supposed. But it turned his stomach. Yes, they may be God’s enemies but they were innocents. And he could not stand aside and allow innocents to be slaughtered.

The next day and night, he snuck out of the camp and searched for a way into the city. He had no plan, no idea how he would stop his own commanders, but he knew he needed Yusuf’s help. The only problem was, he had no idea where Yusuf was.

The first step was getting into the city and after two days of reconnaissance, Nicolo managed to get inside the walls. It was late, late enough that even the men on guard were falling asleep. Nicolo was careful to avoid any soldiers as he crept through the streets, but he still had no idea where he was going. 

He felt himself getting lost the longer he roamed so when he saw a soldier dressed and equipped much like Yusuf usually was, Nicolo followed him. They made several turns, their path twisting through the city in a way that practically guaranteed Nicolo was truly lost, before suddenly they were in front of what appeared to be a barracks. Nicolo slipped inside behind the man he had followed and silently climbed the staircase to the upper level. He had no idea why, exactly, but he knew he needed to.

At the top of the stairs he meant to turn right only his body turned left. Most of the doors were closed, the men asleep for the night, but the third door was open. Two oil lamps burned softly, the light just enough to illuminate the man inside. Nicolo stopped. His heart stopped. His breathing stopped. All of it just...frozen.

Yusuf had clearly just taken a bath, his hair was clean and messy as he ran his fingers through it. Water droplets glistened on his chest, the light catching it just right. It was the first time Nicolo had truly seen the man, underneath the blood and dirt and grime that usually covered him when they met.

He hadn’t gotten dressed yet. And Nicolo couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even  _ think _ to look away.

He had no idea how long he stood there for before there was a shout. Yusuf looked up at the sound and his eyes caught Nicolo’s, a slow grin making its way across his face. 

He was breathtaking.

It was the only thing Nicolo could think before a man drove a sword through him. Nicolo hadn’t even heard him approach.

-

To say that Yusuf was not expecting to see Nicolo outside his room in the late hours of the early morning would be an exaggeration. The possibility had never even crossed his mind. When he  _ had _ seen him, his first thought was that he was dreaming. The man had shirked his uniform for clothing that more resembled Yusuf’s own and his face and hair were clean for the first time that Yusuf had seen. He was beautiful. And then he was dead.

The man who had killed him was staring at his body, his eyes wide. “They’re invading,” he whispered. He turned to go, probably to sound the alarm.

“No,” Yusuf shot forward, arms outstretched. He glanced down at Nicolo’s body, unsure how long he had before he awoke. “We don’t know that. We don’t want to scare people if we’re wrong,” he cautioned. The man hesitated. “Bring the body in here,” he stepped back into his room. “I will search it, see if there are any clues as to what has brought him here.” The man looked hesitant but a glance at Nicolo showed the wound healing quickly so Yusuf didn’t waste time cajoling him into action. “I will sound the alarm if I believe there to be trouble,” he promised. “Now bring the body inside and leave it to me.” The man blinked then hurried to action.

A moment later, Yusuf shut his door behind the man just in time for Nicolo to awaken.

Nicolo shot up, his body tensed to run, or fight, only to freeze when he saw Yusuf. Yusuf watched in amusement as a pink flush appeared on his neck and cheeks. He was also amused to note that the only direction Nicolo looked was down, not away.

“Nicolo,” he whispered. He wanted to ask what he was doing here, how he had gotten in, what had possessed him to come into the city, but he knew they had not the words for that kind of conversation. 

Nicolo’s eyes slowly dragged up his body to meet his eyes. “Yusuf.” His voice was low and gravelly and any care that Yusuf might have had about how bad an idea this was disappeared. Yusuf pulled Nicolo to his feet and kissed him, slow and thorough.

Later, Nicolo would show him the plans he had stolen. Later still, Yusuf would kill him in order to get him out of the city.

For now, they had a room to themselves and a closed door blocking out the rest of the world and they intended to take full advantage of it.

\---

Nicolo was starting to wonder if there was any point. Every battle was much like the ones before it. His men killed infidels. The infidels killed his men. Those alive retreated and a few days later, they tried again. 

He was getting a little bored. He hadn’t even seen Yusuf in a few weeks, the other man safely ensconced inside the city. 

“Habibi,” a familiar voice crooned. Nicolo whirled to find Yusuf behind him, seemingly as unaffected by the battle raging as he was. They both had weapons in their hands but they didn’t attack, choosing instead to deflect anyone who came near them. After a few moments, Yusuf jerked his head in a ‘follow me’ motion and started wading his way to the edge of the battle. Nicolo followed.

Yusuf cleared the fighting and made it a relatively safe distance away before stopping and turning around. He planted his sword in the ground and leaned on it as he watched Nicolo approach. When Nicolo came abreast of him, he too turned and together they watched their armies kill each other. 

They didn’t say anything, words meaningless between them for multiple reasons, but Nicolo felt himself relaxing, felt some of the tension in his body loosen, as they stood there side by side. When the battle ended and it was time for them to part, Nicolo had the brief notion of leaving it all behind and taking Yusuf with him. A moment later, Yusuf stepped away from him and the idea passed.

\---

Yusuf ran. There was nothing he could do so he ran, he left his people behind to be slaughtered and he fled. The invaders had won. They’d broken through the walls and conquered the city. And the cruelty they’d shown had no bounds.

He had not seen Nicolo among them but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. As much as he constantly craved the sight of the man now, he did not know if he could stand to see him among the savages. 

There were a few parties along the road, too few, as Yusuf fled the city. Everyone was moving as quickly as they could to put some distance between themselves and the invaders and Yusuf was no different. He had no idea where he would go or what he would do. His life was in that city, his family, his friends, his means of making a living. And it was all gone.

He’d been walking for several hours when he heard the familiar clash of steel up ahead. Most of those around him were women and children, no weapons to speak of, so Yusuf quickened his pace. Ahead, a young man, a boy really, with a sword too big for him, was caught in a duel with one of the invaders. Yusuf had no idea what one of them was doing so far from the city and all alone but he didn’t waste time driving his sword through the man’s back. The man dropped the sword and the boy fell back, safe in his mother’s clutches. She nodded at Yusuf in thanks before hurrying her children away. Yusuf watched them go, saw everyone pass him by, and pulled his sword free to run the man through again. He could not kill their entire army, but he could kill this man.

After the third strike, the man croaked out a sound and Yusuf froze. The man should be dead. Thrice over. 

Yusuf dropped his sword to the side and turned the man over to see his face. It was Nicolo. He fell to his knees, the sword hitting the ground with a clang. People continued to pass them by, most giving them a wide berth. 

Nicolo winced as his wounds healed and Yusuf stood long enough to drag him off to the side of the road. He cut his outer clothes away, the glaring red cross now nothing more than a dirty rag, and ground them into the earth. He never wanted to see that symbol again, not even on Nicolo. 

When he was awake, his breathing back to normal, Nicolo tentatively picked up his hand and cradled it between his own. Yusuf didn’t pull away and they sat there, slightly hidden from the road, for hours. The sun went down and still they sat there, Nicolo offering silent comfort as best he could when Yusuf knew he felt guilty for it. But Nicolo hadn’t been there, couldn’t have been there. 

When the moon was high in the sky and the road was empty of travelers, Yusuf let go of Nicolo’s hand in favor of running his hands across his body. He’d struck three killing blows and he’d meant them to hurt. But he didn’t want to hurt Nicolo, had stopped wanting to hurt him some time ago. 

Nicolo took his hands in his and pressed gentle kisses to his fingers. A silent ‘I’m okay’. Yusuf closed his eyes and leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together. One of Nicolo’s hands appeared on his jaw, his thumb stroking gently. Slowly, choreographing his movements so Yusuf could move away, Nicolo leaned in and kissed him. It was soft, leading to nothing, but it was an assurance. That Nicolo was here, with him, and not with his own people. He’d chosen a side and it was with Yusuf.

\---

They woke up to the sun shining in their faces and two women standing over them. 

“Are you done killing each other yet?” One of them asked in Yusuf’s language. The other one said something in Nicolo’s language, undoubtedly the same thing.

He and Nicolo nodded. 

“Good,” the first one said firmly. She held out her hand and helped Yusuf to his feet, the other woman helping Nicolo. “I’m Andromache. This is Quynh.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (according to Google):
> 
> La shukran ala wajib is Arabic for "You're welcome" or more literally, "don't thank me, it's my job" 
> 
> Mi hai mancato is Italian for "you missed"


End file.
